


The More Things Change

by devilinthedetails



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Beginnings, Courtly Love, Courtship, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, Loss, Politics, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 07:03:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15383298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: Thayet makes a new home in Tortall while Lady Cythera plays matchmaker. Set during Lioness Rampant.





	The More Things Change

The More Things Change

Thayet absorbed the tranquil silence of the sun-dappled meadow a stone’s throw away (Buri had verified this with a tossed rock earlier) from the shadowy fringes of the Royal Forest. With the breeze blowing off the Olorun to cool the sweat from the morning’s ride beading her back, she sat on a tartan blanket—it hadn’t taken her long in Tortall to realize that the north wove so many tartan blankets that nobody in the country should ever freeze—and finished her picnic with Lady Cythera. 

Buri had accompanied Thayet on her outing with Lady Cythera—though she had refused to join Thayet and Lady Cythera in riding side-saddle and had worn breeches and a shirt instead of a riding gown—but she was done feeding herself and was tempting her horse with handfuls of treats in the shade of an expansive elm. 

“I realize it’s short notice, Your Highness.” Lady Cythera’s wide eyes were a guileless blue but Thayet found it difficult to trust her. The instincts of a refugee forever screaming for her to flee made her skittish as a beaten colt around the only court lady who had treated her with a warm welcome rather than a cold, cautious courtesy. Lady Cythera was not merely impeccably polite. She was also friendly to Thayet and made an effort to be gracious if not understanding to Buri who plainly mystified her with her rugged K’miri ways which were about as suited for court as a bull was to a porcelain shop. 

Thayet often wondered if Lady Cythera was only putting on a facade of friendship to lure them into a trap as a poisonous plant might ensnare insects in its cloying petals with enticing fragrances or if she was merely acting on the orders of her husband the Prime Minister in everything but title because the king who would soon be crowned had taken a fancy to her. After all, Lady Cythera had been regarded as the the most beautiful and probably the most powerful woman at court before Thayet had arrived. If anyone should be hostile to Thayet, it should be Lady Cythera. 

Whenever those thoughts occurred to her, she would mentally apologize to Lady Cythera for mistrusting her without justification and inwardly curse her father for breeding paranoia into her blood and bones. Resolving to be more trusting of Lady Cythera in the future, Thayet smiled in polite encouragement as Lady Cythera went on, “Gary and I will be hosting a small party—nothing elaborate that would be tone dead amidst these troubled times, of course, but a little chance to cheer ourselves so the grimness won’t crush our spirits—starting at the fifth bell tomorrow evening. We’d be honored if you’d join us.” 

“I’d be delighted.” Thayet wasn’t about to reject an opportunity to lobby the man who determined as much of the realm’s politics as the king did about her dream of educating commoners. It was only when her thoughts turned to the king that it crossed her mind he would likely be present at his cousin’s party. Smoothing clotted cream on a blueberry scone to hide the flush climbing her cheeks, she asked as if it were a matter of courtesy rather than burning curiosity, “Will His Majesty be in attendance?” 

“His Majesty has agreed to grace us with his presence, yes.” Lady Cythera glanced at Thayet and didn’t miss the blazing blush on Thayet’s face if her next words were any indication. “The pressures of ruling and the tragic double blow of losing both his parents in such a short time is a heavy burden about his shoulders but anyone with eyes can see that his load lightens around you. I think your company at the party would please and comfort him if it’s not too bold for me to say, Your Highness.” 

“It’s not too bold, Lady Cythera.” Thayet’s threshold of acceptable boldness was set very high after a lifetime of dealing with Buri’s endless stream of snide remarks. Only a blind courtier, as Cythera had pointed out, could have failed to observe how King Jonathan—who always urged Thayet to call him by Jon instead of any formal title—took sunset strolls in the gardens with heron his elbow and escorted her on morning rides where they swapped sympathies and shared sorrows. 

She thought of him as a friend but also sometimes as a potential suitor when he picked flowers for her or read verses of poetry to her that forced her to stifle laughter rather than sighs at the exaggerated passion in each phrase. Uncertain as ever about whether she wanted to grow to love King Jonathan or wished to let him down gently as she could before he hurt her as her father had, Thayet added the only sentiment she could be sure was sincere, “I hope I can be some solace to him in his grief as he has been to me in my mourning.” 

“You will be, Your Highness.” Lady Cythera reached across the blanket to squeeze Thayet’s wrist, and Thayet thought with a flicker of hope that could be extinguished so easily by an icy look or a cruel comment that this might be the beginning of a friendship. “If you come to the party, I assure you the king will be much less morose, which will be a relief to my husband since, between us, my husband is quick with his jokes and advice but the delicate art of consolation is not his forte. Mostly he says nothing or makes vaguely sympathetic noises. He tries but doesn’t always succeed at being sympathetic.” 

“Your husband’s support, my lady, means everything to His Majesty, I believe.” Thayet hadn’t needed to spend much time in conversation with the king before she recognized by what he said and what he left unsaid how much he relied upon to the point of taking for granted his cousin’s staunch support. Thayet’s relationship with King Jonathan was too new and tentative to offer that solid if sarcastic bedrock. 

“They’re family, and family must stick together.” Lady Cythera’s gaze drifted to the sky, which Thayet realized with a start was graying ominously. “Storm is coming in off the Olorun. We’d be wise to ride back to the palace before we’re drenched in what promises to be a downpour, Your Highness.” 

“The leaves are flipping over,” Buri shouted from under the elm, jabbing a hand with reins coiled around it like serpents up at the tree’s leaves, which had rolled over to their darker green sides to collect more water from the impending thunderstorm. “I’m taking my horse back to the stables. You two can ride back with me or get wet, whichever you prefer. No skin off my nose if you give yourselves colds.” 

“We’re coming.” Thayet hurried to help Lady Cythera gather the picnic basket and blanket, which were packed on their horses as swiftly as possible. 

Despite their best effort at rapid departure, thunder roared and lightning flashed across the sky as they galloped across the meadow. Though they spurred their mounts into a run, the clouds opened quicker and they were soaked as fish in the sea before reaching the sanctuary of the stables. 

Back at the palace, Thayet changed out of her damp clothes warming them and herself by a flaming fire in her parlor’s hearth. Still, she didn’t feel properly dry until she was donning for Sir Gareth’s and Lady Cyhera’s party a black dress offset with garnet necklace and earrings to relieve the austerity of the mourning black. 

The fifth bell toll that evening found her in Sir Gareth’s and Lady Cythera’s quarters mingling among courtiers as they sipped Tyran wine and nibbled on appetizers in an ocean of black, brown, and dark purple that fostered an atmosphere of gloom more than gaiety despite Lady Cythera’s relentless endeavors to charm her guests. 

“I’m so delighted that you could be here, Your Highness.” Lady Cythera dimpled at Thayet as she approached with a tiny plate of honeyed almond tarts for Thayet to sample. Nodding her thanks as she accepted a tart from the porcelain saucer extended to her, Thayet thought that Lady Cythera in her dark purple gown and amethyst jewelry might still be the most beautiful woman at court no matter what gossips whispered on the contrary. Her ash blonde hair and bright blue jay eyes were more traditionally beautiful than Thayet’s raven hair and hazel eyes. Lady Cythera’s nose was a button, not a sow’s snout as Thayet’s own father had derided hers as being, and she was soft sweetness from top to toe. “My husband is likewise happy to see you.” 

Thayet wouldn’t have been surprised if Sir Gareth was too engrossed in conversation to even notice her arrival nonetheless experience pleasure at it, but she responded, “I was hoping to see your husband to speak about a matter of state, Lady Cythera.” 

“If it concerns your exile to our country”—Lady Cythera paused to take a dainty as everything else about her bite of almond tart—“please be assured that the king has indicated you’re welcome to remain in his kingdom as long as you wish, which he appears to hope will be forever.” 

“I’ve heard of His Majesty’s generosity many times and appreciate it abundantly.” Thayet inclined her head in gratitude for the refuge that had been given to her in Tortall. “It’s my intention to discuss my dreams of establishing education for commoners with your husband, my lady.” 

“Ah, yes, the school you plan to build is inspirational to us all, Your Highness.” Lady Cythera’s grin grew and her dimples deepened until they threatened to swallow her cheeks. “I’d be glad to assist you to the best of my humble abilities in founding the school and donating to the expenses you’ll need every year to operate your school. Your school reminds me of how important the education I received at the convent was. I lost my mother very young to childbirth as so many girls do and my father was a diplomat so I was sent to the convent soon as was permitted. The priestesses became my mothers, teaching me all the lady’s arts I know. I only pray they consider me a credit to their training.” 

“I wouldn’t doubt for a moment they do.” Thayet smiled but it was a sad one that grieved for the the Lady Cythera must have been: a motherless child abandoned in a convent to receive a strict education from stern priestesses. Learning how to dance, how to sing, how to play an instrument, and how to smile must have been difficult in such a soul-crushing situation. 

“You’re too kind, Your Highness.” Lady Cythera dismissed the compliment with a light laugh then slipped out a palm to snag her husband as he passed behind Thayet. “Gary darling, Her Highness wishes to speak with you.” 

“Her Highness’s wish is my command.” Sir Gareth nodded to his wife and bowed to Thayet. “How might I be of assistance to you, Your Highness?” 

“I was hoping to speak with you about the state of education in the realm.” Thayet took a deep breath she prayed to the Horse Lords wasn’t noticeable to those with whom she conversed before plunging into what she feared would be frigid waters. “His Majesty has given me leave to establish a school in his dominion. I’m most grateful but believe more children could be helped if an effort was made to found such schools across the country.” 

“I value education, but not all nobles share my enlightened view.” Sir Gareth’s gaze was distant but somehow sharp as a shark’s. “Many will believe that educating commoners renders them a danger to us. Those who aren’t so paranoid as that will snort over the notion as if it were as ridiculous as wasting time and resources instructing a pig in a wig to dance the minuet.” 

“Do you believe such things, Sir Gareth?” Thayet considered him out of the corner of her eyes, thinking that if he was opposed to her plan that might be its death knell since he had the king’s ear more than she did. 

“Of course not, Your Highness.” Sir Gareth’s quirked in all the warning she would get about him unleashing his dry humor upon her. “Only a fool would assume a person’s rank reflected that individual’s intelligence. Some of the cleverest people I’ve met are low-born and some of the most irredeemably idiotic have been my fellow bluebloods—a disconcerting realization when you contemplate how much my family tree is intertwined with theirs. I don’t agree with the irredeemably idiotic bluebloods but since they are influential, I must understand their perspective to prepare myself to battle against them or negotiate with them as necessary.” 

“How are you preparing to battle or negotiate with them, Sir Gareth?” Thayet arched an eyebrow, enjoying how witty he could be while still being politically astute. No wonder the king appreciated his counsel and used him as a right hand in government. 

“With facts, the weapon that disarms every imbecile.” Sir Gareth’s tone was crisp as he answered her with facts that he had apparently memorized for occasions such as this. “Corus, Port Caynn, and Port Legann have the highest population of literate commoners in our realm, and they consistently have the most thriving economies in the kingdom. Smaller cities like Portsmouth and Blue Harbor that also have a higher than average number of commoners who can read and write likewise contribute disproportionately high revenue to Tortall’s economy in relation to their population. There is also the relevant example of Tyra. A significant amount of the the tiny Tyran population is literate and per person they have the strongest economy in the Eastern Lands. Correlation doesn’t equal causation, obviously, but correlation does sound convincing especially to imbeciles where money is concerned.” 

Before Thayet could reply, King Jonathan entered, and the room descended into curtsies and bows until the king gestured for them to resume their conversations. The king’s stunning blue eyes studied the party as if he were on a reconnaissance mission, and Thayet dropped hers to the carpet, praying he would miss her in the crowd. He didn’t and strode over to her group at once, a broad beam shining from his face. 

Sir Gareth opened his mouth to speak with the king—probably about her plan to build schools across Tortall—but was interrupted before he could begin when Lady Cythera hooked her elbow through his and murmured, “Will you escort me to get a glass of wine, Gary? I’m parched.” 

“Certainly. We wouldn’t want you to faint from thirst, my dear.” Sir Gareth started to lead Lady Cythera toward the table laden with shimmering crystal glasses of wine that sparkled in the candlelight. 

“My apologies for my husband,” Lady Cythera whispered in Thayet’s ear as she walked behind her. “He’s very smart in almost every area except romance, where he’s thicker than spring mud, I’m afraid.” 

“I may be thicker than spring mud, but I’m not hard of hearing and I heard that.” Sir Gareth sounded indignant. 

“You were meant to, my love.” Lady Cythera was serene as she steered her husband toward the wine table. “If you weren’t, I would’ve been much more discreet.” 

“He’ll be distracted for awhile thanks to the valiant efforts of Lady Cythera.” King Jonathan watched his cousin disappear with an expression that was an even mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Before he reaches the wine table, he’ll make scintillating conversation with at least three people about such fascinating topics as taxes, trade, and wheat prices.” 

“I just had a most insightful conversation with him about education.” Thayet felt it was only fair to defend someone who would advocate on behalf of her schools. 

“Oh, he can converse insightfully and at length on any subject.” King Jonathan’s eyes twinkled at her like blue stars. “It’s not him I would talk about, however. It’s you.” 

After that, Thayet allowed herself to be charmed into a conversation about horses that ended with her agreeing to ride with him the next morning.


End file.
